friend
Hicks's daughter did for thee she did well, and she has my consent; for it
was my money that she sent thee."

"God bless you, man!" he said, holding his hand to his face, "for I am
nothing to you."

"And what is Benjamin Hicks's daughter to thee if thee is nothing to me?"

He looked at me in wonder: "She is to me a good woman who did her benefits
in secret. I never had much conversation with her, for we seldom met; but
she was ever kind, and I heard that she would marry soon. I never talked
much to any one, for my cares have been great to me, and that sorrow up
stairs has been a goodly portion."

"Go to thy sorrow," I said, "and let it comfort thee, as sorrow should,
that thee did the best thee could."

Was I cruel in having spoken to him as I had, and at this time?

Then I wrote all--everything of the past months, of to-day, of the
deceased woman's suffering, of her death, her husband's arrival, and all
that he had said to me. It was a considerably lengthy letter, but what of
that? It was for friend Barbara. I sent it at once. Then I must not
neglect my duties here, so I stayed the allotted time, receiving
occasional word from friend Hicks, but none from his daughter.

I think my mind was much inclined toward the hireling minister, for I
clearly saw, as thee no doubt does, that he never knew what Barbara
thought of him, and that he never could know, for he was a pure man and
the sad husband of a sad wife. And when he would have said words of thanks
to me when he left me I checked him: "Thee knows a Friend is not well
pleased with many words: let the many good deeds which thee will do act as
the many kind words thee would give me."

"With God's help I will," said he.

"Verily," I said; "and I bid peace be unto thee!"

"And unto you, friend!" he said. And the words that had been our first
parting at friend Barbara's father's gate were the words that were our
last as I left him at his wife's grave, from whence he was to go to a
church in a distant city.

And when the six months were over and I was at liberty to go, I wrote
another letter of a single line to Barbara, and this was it: "I am coming
to thy father's house." That was all, for I thought that maybe she might
not care overly much to greet me, all things considered, and might
peradventure choose to make a trifling visit to her cousin Ann Jones, to
whose house she as often as not went for those changes which most women
much incline toward. Yet w